


Find Me Faithless

by Minxchester (ComeAlongPond14)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Plug, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bitch Dean, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Breeding Bench, Cock Slut Dean, Creampie, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Dirty Talk, Dog Dean, Doggy Style, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Exhibitionism, Exhibitionist Dean, Gags, Implied Beastiality, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Restraints, Sassy Dean, Shameless Dean, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Top Crowley, tail plug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6423745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/Minxchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...the instant he was not required for any of his formal Knightly responsibilities, Dean’s blood lit on fire, the need to rut and bend over and be taken overwhelming all of his senses."</p><p>Title from Seether's "FMLYHM."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Me Faithless

**Author's Note:**

> Pure, unapologetic filthy porn? Yes.
> 
> Warning for implied beastiality in the closing lines, nothing graphic. And, well, slutty!bitch!Dean, I suppose.
> 
> Lol I'm sooooooorry (This is also on my tumblr at @minxchester).

“If you recall, when we were sitting in that putrid stinking pit of a bar that you enjoyed so much, I told you to sit back down and listen to me. You really should have just obeyed, you know.”

Black eyes flickered up to land on Crowley’s face, a hint of a frown creasing the demon’s pretty face at his King’s words, and he chuckled softly in response. “Oh, don’t fret, this isn’t punishment. I mean, you’d certainly deserve it if it was, and now that I’ve planted that idea in your mind--don’t pretend you wouldn't absolutely love it. But no, this--” Crowley gestured to the display that Dean made, before turning to walk back up to his throne and sit down, propping his chin on one hand. “This is just fun. Isn’t it, pet?”

Dean considered that, carefully, and then let out a long, quiet sigh, because he could hardly claim that he  _ wasn’t _ perfectly happy in his current circumstances. Most of Crowley’s bitches might be self-conscious, if they found themselves buck-ass-naked and chained hand and food to a bench that had been modified to better serve for breeding than just beatings--but Dean wasn't even slightly embarrassed.

The bench was powerfully reinforced, strong enough to support the weight of hellhounds if need be, but Crowley hadn’t had it made for mating his dogs. This bench was purely to restrain his favorite bitch, his loyal and subservient First Knight.

Crowley cocked his head, watching the thoughts that chased themselves across his pet’s face before he gestured imperiously. “Let him answer."

Immediately a demon stepped out of the shadows, stepping up beside the bench and carefully unstrapping the bone-shaped gag that had been clamped snugly between Dean’s teeth, standing beside him with the drool-slicked item in his hand as Dean licked his lips, then stretched his aching jaw experimentally.

“Well?” The King asked, soft and taunting; he knew the answer perfectly well, but he wanted to hear Dean say it.

Dean was sorely tempted to mouth off, if only because it had already been far too long since he’d felt a whip against his skin, but his Master was right. Others might have found it humiliating if they were in his place--but Dean felt nothing but arrogant delight, bound and on display for the King and watched, wide-eyed, by so many of Hell’s lesser minions.

Some of them might have been more horrified than aroused by the macabre tableau of sexual dominance that he was arranged into, a blatantly sadistic demonstration of Crowley’s authority over even the most powerful demon in his army--but Dean really didn’t give much of a shit what they thought.

“It is fun,” he growled hoarsely, and just for the giggle factor, he turned and bared his teeth in a silent snarl at the demon who’d ungagged him, charcoal eyes flashing with cruel mirth as the poor creature flinched at once, his hand shaking around the black rubber bone still clutched in his fingers.

Crowley tsked playfully, leaning forward on his throne. “Oh, now, darling, be nice. Don’t want to be muzzled, do you?” At the Knight’s sulky head shake--really, Dean didn’t hate his muzzle, but once it was on it didn’t come off for days--the King grinned, nodding at the minion, who quickly returned the bit to its place in Dean’s mouth, buckling it securely before he melted back into the nearby darkness.

Dean mouthed at the bit until it felt comfortable between his teeth again, knowing exactly how he must look. The bench was just wide enough to support his upper body over its black, leather-padded surface; if he sat up, he would be straddling it, but flat on his chest the way he was, his backside hung back over the end slightly--a very intentional pose, of course, given that his ass needed to be nice and accessible for today’s activity.

His arms hung down on either side of the bench, and his knees rested just high enough to support his weight on secondary padded shelves, while cuffs at his wrists and ankles restrained him securely to the floor. Dean knew that there were also levers hidden here and there on the structure, and if Crowley wished for him to be adjusted up into a sitting position, slack could easily be put in the chains to allow for it.

But that would only happen if the King decided to apply the unique add-on of his own design, by which a dildo could be attached to the plank in the perfect position for an upright bitch to mount and ride it.

The Knight did not anticipate that privilege, today; but one really never knew with Crowley.

He did know that  _ something _ would be penetrating him, though, because there was no other reason--aside, perhaps, from aesthetic appeal, but if that were the case then he would be trussed up this prettily in Crowley’s private room, not in the main throne hall--for the massive tail plug that had been worked into his ass shortly before he was summoned, stripped, and chained into place; the cool glass slid tauntingly over his insides, grazing his prostate mockingly, and the rubber tail made a soft, satisfying swishing sound through the air with every eager wriggle of Dean’s hips.

This one had a short fur lining over it, the same golden brown color as Dean’s hair, and had been a particularly well-received gift from his King when they celebrated Dean’s first year as Crowley’s First Knight--and his quick-to-become-favorite bitch, out of all those in the King’s “kennel.”

Dean was waiting skeptically for the day that Crowley decided to add ears and paws to the ensemble; he did so enjoy the degradation of seeing Dean crawl to him like a real, proper bitch, grovelling before his Master and begging to be rolled over and fucked, bred, filled...just like a good slut should.

Thankfully, he'd never been denied the freedom to speak, or required to limit himself to canine sounds; Crowley enjoyed the once-proud hunter’s voice far too much, especially when it was cracking and shaking around moans and pleas and screams of bliss.

“Good boy,” the King murmured tauntingly, watching the play of resentment and arousal dancing in Dean’s face at his condescending tone. “Oh, Dean--did you just roll your eyes at me?”

The Knight stilled his restless fidgeting, debating how to answer that inquiry. Of course he had rolled his eyes; but the decision to own up to it or deny it--which would be taken as defiance--remained his own. Finally he nodded, awkwardly, his chin brushing the bench as he kept his eyes on Crowley’s face, which split into a wide, pleased smile.

“Yes, you did. Now, how ever shall I manage you when you’re being this rude, pet?” Crowley rose again, descending to stand in front of Dean, curling three fingers beneath his jaw and force his head up as high as possible, straining his neck. The King leaned in close, his words brushing soft and breathy-hot against Dean’s ear.

“You know I dislike when my bitch is stubborn,” he purred, and Dean shuddered, hating his body’s commitment to always expressing its interest in anything that Crowley did to it; as his Master’s voice taunted him, his cock leapt against the back end of the bench, smearing pre-come over the perfectly smooth wood surface underneath the leather padding.

Crowley didn’t miss that, tilting his head as he eyed his pet’s arousal. “Seems you’re only being stubborn to amuse yourself, cheeky little slut--your cock seems to think that you’re going to be fucked despite all your snark. Is that the case?” he added with a smirk, releasing Dean’s face only to move along the length of his bound figure, reaching between Dean’s spread thighs and giving his erection a short, cruel jerk.

Dean whined, unable to hold the sound back; it spilled from behind the rubber gag from deep in his throat, low and wet and gurgling, and immediately he bit down again, the sound morphing into a growl of self-reprimand.

His Master merely chuckled, delighting as always in Dean’s desperate attempts to maintain some fragment of sexual autonomy--a pointless effort, really, Dean had long ago surrendered to him completely. “Now, now, darling, you know I’d be happy to play with you if you wanted it. That’s the entire purpose of all of this, isn’t it? Strap my naughty bitch to his breeding post, work him up will he’s whining and crying for a nice, thick cock slamming into him, and then..."

Crowley’s fingers trailed over the tail, giving it the smallest of twists, which made the plug roll against Dean’s wide-stretched entrance, and the Knight moaned again. This, yes, he wanted this. Wanted the King to stop dragging things out just to hear him break and beg, and to stuff Dean full until he could barely breathe for how sated his impossible, fiery libido finally was.

But then again, it really  _ never _ was satisfied. The perks of what he had become; Dean was perpetually Crowley’s bitch in heat, able to serve his King and do his duties--but the instant he was not required for any of his formal Knightly responsibilities, Dean’s blood lit on fire, the need to rut and bend over and  _ be taken _ overwhelming all of his senses.

He pushed back against the chains restraining him, asking soundlessly for more, and let out a low snarl as Crowley promptly released his tail. The King laughed, the sound dark and sweet t Dean’s ears, and returned to the Knight’s shoulder, leaning back in to bite down--not gently whatsoever, damn him, and Dean needed  _ more _ \--on his earlobe, before Crowley whispered to him.

“I don’t  _ have _ to take care of you myself, pet,” he reminded Dean, stroking his fingers into Dean’s hair before giving it a ruthless little yank. “I could just open it to the floor. Announce to the room that my lovely little bitch has brassed me off, and needs to be fucked back into his place. Could slip a blindfold over those pretty, pretty eyes, and simply leave you to them--take out your tail, and let Hell have your sorry arse. Hmm, darling?”

Dean shuddered, cringing away from the suggestion. For all that he could be reduced to a howling, clawing, screaming slut, no better than a true hellhound in heat--that was all for Crowley, alone. For his Master, never for the ranks of Hell.

He shook his head, emitting soft whines of displeasure, unable to voice his protest, but letting his eyes flicker back to emerald green, wide and bright and need-filled. Crowley did always love Dean’s eyes.

The King snorted, straightening up and reaching out to give his ass a solid swat. “It’s very good for you, isn’t it, that I like keeping my finest bitch all to myself? I am the only one allowed to strap you down and fuck you until you roar that lovely voice of yours into nothing. Isn’t that right, my filthy little whore?”

Dean could only nod, eagerly, his cheek scraping along the leather as he kept his eyes on Crowley. His composure was cracking--the King’s proximity, his taunting voice and barely-there touches, the dirty words he dripped onto Dean’s blackened soul like venom that kept him addicted to his Master’s desires--it all had Dean shaking in his bonds, his cock leaking a steady little trickle of pre-come down the back of the bench, his hole clenching hungrily around the glass cock and longing for a real one.

“Very good,” the King said, and then he grinned, and that never, ever boded well for the Knight. “I suppose you’ve earned your relief.”

To Dean’s endless joy, the King moved behind him again, undoing the front of his own trousers and freeing his cock to rub it tauntingly against Dean’s ass, the head rubbing mockingly from where the tail bumped and jostled inside his hole, over his full, achingly heavy balls, and down along the dripping length of his dick.

“Do you want it?” Crowley asked, low and taunting, and Dean let out a whine that was, completely and utterly, the sound of a bitch in heat, begging its stud for a hard fuck. His thighs trembled, wanting to spread wider in invitation, but he was bound too tightly; he simply had to take what was offered.

The King’s fingers closed around the tail again, gently twisting it free of the hot grip of Dean’s entrance, and he moaned wetly through his gag as the glass slid out of him. The gaping emptiness that it left made him shudder, twitching miserably with the need to be filled again, and Crowley’s gentle pat to his haunches barely eased Dean’s quivering.

“Don’t fuss, pet, I’ve got you,” Crowley growled, and then Dean let out a harsh, guttural cry of relief, his eyes flaring open, black and glinting, as the King shoved fully inside him in one swift stroke, the way eased by a fresh coat of lube. His cock was notably larger than the toy had been, and the overwhelming pressure as he was stuffed full made Dean keen around the rubber in his mouth, a wordless sound of pure need.

Crowley’s cock perfectly rubbed over his prostate as he drove into his bitch over and over, and within a moment Dean had to squeeze his eyes closed, clenching down tightly in an attempt to stave off his own orgasm. His fingers clenched uselessly in the air, the cuffs rubbing red and raw around his wrists, soothing him with the distraction of sharp, perfect pleasure-pain.

The King’s voice was utterly smug, barely winded as he pounded his hips against Dean’s, flesh smacking wetly together, and Dean could feel the heat of his Master’s balls striking his ass with each slide in. “Is this what you needed, hm? Good little bitch, on your knees taking it like it’s what you were made for--desperate for it, aren’t you, Dean?”

Dean wanted to agree, tried to groan out a broken affirmation, but the gag held his tongue down; he threw his head back, every slamming thrust of his Master’s cock into him making the sounds punch out of him in short, hard bursts of breath and noise.

A hand tangled into his short hair, yanking his head back too far, hurting him, and Dean merely moaned louder, harder, needing it, begging for more. He could feel Crowley’s fingers on the strap of the gag, tugging the buckle loose, and then the bone fell slack in his mouth, and Dean parted his jaws at once, letting his King pull it free, feeling his own excess saliva drip down over his lips and jaw, ignored.

“ _ Yes _ !” Dean snarled, his head falling forward again, trusting the cuffs to keep him securely on the bench as he relaxed, and let his Master have him. “Yes, fuck, harder,  _ please _ , need it--need to be full, need your cock--!”

His voice always pushed Crowley to the edge faster. The King groaned darkly as he shoved as deeply inside of Dean as he could, fingers digging fresh bruises into his hips that Dean would savor for days after this, pressing against his own sides in order to feel the faint, sweet ache of them on his skin.

They would be replaced before they could fade, too, keeping the Knight constantly soothed, knowing how utterly owned he was. Crowley was nothing if not diligent in his possession of his pet’s body.

When he felt Crowley’s release, hot and thick inside of him, Dean whined in pleasure, tightening his body to milk out every last drop. He felt the King’s soft laugh shudder through their joined bodies, and smirked at the light, fond swat that landed on his ass for the effort, teasing him with the spark of heat. Dean let out a low purr, arching his back to push his hips as high as he could, straining against his chains.

When Crowley finally slid free, Dean sighed, feeling the hot-wet trickle of his Master’s come, slick and heavy inside him--and then the gradual, tickling sensation of the first few drops beginning their slow slide out of his hole, and down his thighs.

Over his own heavy breathing, Dean could hear the sounds of the throne room around them, demons shuffling quietly as they tried to avoid Crowley’s notice while surreptitiously observing his pet’s supposed humiliation, and Dean smirked faintly at the ignorance.

Then he froze, because no ambient noise in the world could disguise the familiar click-clack of claws on stone, or the panting much heavier than his own, wet whines filling his ears as the real beasts of Hell scented the air, taking in the aroma of come, arousal, sweat and lust that permeated the throne room. Dean didn’t have to look to see the hellhounds straining at their chains, eyes wild and tongues rolling, all of the males of the pack with their disproportionately massive cocks, and inescapable alpha knots. 

“You didn’t think that I was letting you off  _ that _ easy, did you, pet?” Crowley’s voice was low and rich with amusement, and the hand that he placed on his Knight’s bare back, stroking down the damp skin slowly and reassuringly, was hot with the promise of pleasure. “After all, can’t let such an obedient prize bitch go to waste, now, can I. You’re going to be so good for me--aren’t you, darling?”

When Dean finally came, it was so intense that he nearly blacked out, voice breaking with bliss when he screamed for his King.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hate me or stop reading Criminal because of this. X'D


End file.
